Devil's Cub
by CanYouTakeMeHeyer
Summary: Edward Mason, Marquis of Cullen, has established a rakish reputation. After wounding is opponent in a duel, he schemes to abduct the silly chit bent on seducing him into marriage. In his rush, however, he seems to have taken the wrong woman...
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

There was only one occupant of the coach, a gentleman who sprawled very much at his ease, with his legs stretched out before him, and his hands dug deep in the capacious pockets of his greatcoat. While the coach rattled over the cobbled streets of the town, the light from an occasional lantern or flambeau momentarily lit the interior of the vehicle and made a diamond pin or a pair of very large shoe-buckles flash, but since the gentleman lounging in the coach wore his gold-edged hat tilted low over his eyes, his face remained in shadow.

The coach was traveling fast, too fast for safety in a London street, and it soon drew out of the town, past the turnpike, on to Hounslow Heath. A faint moonlight showed the road to the coachman on the box, but so dimly that the groom beside him, who had been restive since the carriage drew out of St. James's, gasped presently, as though he could no longer keep back the words: 'Lord! you'll overturn us! It's a wicked pace!'

The only answer vouchsafed was a shrug, and a somewhat derisive laugh. The coach swayed precariously over a rough stretch of ground, and the groom, clutching the seat with both hands, said angrily: 'You're mad! D'you think the devil's on your heels, man? Doesn't he care? Or is he drunk?' The backward jerk of his head seemed to indicate that he was speaking of the man inside the coach.

'When you've been in his service a week you won't call this a wicked pace,' replied the coachman. 'When Cullen travels, he travels swift, d'ye see?'

'He's drunk - three parts asleep!' the groom said.

'Not he.'

Yet the man inside the coach might well have been asleep for all the sign of life he gave. His long body swayed easily with the lurch of the coach, his chin was sunk in the folds of his cravat, and not even the worst bumps in the road had the effect of making him so much as grasp the strap that swung beside him. His hands remained buried in his pockets, remained so even when a shot rang out and the vehicle came to a plunging standstill. But apparently he was awake, for he raised his head, yawning, and leaning it back against the cushions turned it slightly towards the off-window.

There was a good deal of commotion outside; a rough voice was raised; the coachman was cursing the groom for his tardiness in firing the heavy blunderbuss in his charge; and the horses were kicking and rearing.

Someone rode up to the door of the coach and thrust in the muzzle of a big pistol. The moonlight cast a head in silhouette, and a voice said: 'Hand over the pretties, my hearty!'

It did not seem as though the man inside the coach moved, but a gun spoke sharply, and a stabbing point of flame flashed in the darkness. The head and shoulders at the window vanished; there was a sound of a fall, of trampling hooves, of a startled shout, and the belated explosion of the blunderbuss.

The man in the coach drew his right hand out of his pocket at last. There was an elegant silver-mounted pistol in it, still smoking. The gentleman threw it on to the seat beside him, and crushed the charred and smoldering portion of his greatcoat between very long white fingers.

The door of the coach was pulled open, and the coachman jumped up on the the hastily let-down step. The lantern he held lit up the interior, and shone full into the face of the lounging man. It was a surprisingly young face, fair and extremely handsome, the curious vividness overlaid by an expression of restless boredom.

'Well?' said the gentleman coldly.

'Highwaymen, my lord. The new man being unused, so to say, to such doings, was late with the blunderbuss. There was three of them. They've made off - two of them, that is.'

'Well?' said the gentleman again.

The coachman seemed rather discomposed. 'You've killed the other, my lord.'

'Certainly,' said the gentleman. 'But I presume you have not opened the door to inform me of that.'

'Well, my lord - shan't we - do I - his brains are lying in the road, my lord. Do we lave him - like that?'

'My good fellow, are you suggesting that I should carry a footpad's corpse to my Lady Clearwater's drum?'

'No, my lord,' the coachman said hesitatingly. 'Then - then - shall I drive on?'

'Of course drive on,' said the gentleman, faintly surprised.

'Very good, my lord,' the coachman said, and shut the door.

The groom on the box was still clasping the blunderbuss, and staring fascinated at the tumbled figure in the road. When the coachman climbed up on to the box again, and gathered the reins in his hands, he said: Gawd, ain't you going to do anything?'

'There isn't anything you can do for him,' replied the other grimly.

'His head's almost shot off!' shuddered the groom.

The equipage began to move forward. 'Hold your tongue, can't you? He's dead, and that's all there is to it.'

The groom licked his dry lips. 'But don't his lordship know?"

'Of course he knows. He don't make mistakes, not with the pistols.'

The groom drew a deep breath, thinking still of the dead man left to wallow in blood. 'How old is he?' he blurted out presently.

''Twenty-four all but a month or two.'

'Twenty-four! and shoots his man and leaves the corpse as cool as you please! My Gawd!'

He did not speak again until the coach had arrived at its destination, and then he seemed to be so lost in meditation that the coachman had to nudge him sharply. He roused himself then jumped off the box to open the coach door. As his master stepped languidly down, he looked covertly at him, trying to see some sign of agitation in his face. There was none. His lordship sauntered up the steps to the stone porch, and passed into the lighted hall.

'My Gawd!' said the groom again.

Inside the house two lackeys hovered about the late-comer to take his hat and coat.

There was another gentleman in the hall, just about to go up the wide stairway to the saloon. He was good-looking in a rather florid style, with very heavily-arched brows and and a roving eye. His dress proclaimed the Macaroni, for he wore a short coat decorated with frog-buttons, fine striped breeches with bunches of strings at the knee, and a waistcoat hardly reaching below the waist. The frills of his shirt front stuck out at the top, and instead of the cravat, he displayed a very full handkerchief tied in a bow under his chin. On his head he wore an amazingly tall ladder-toupet, dusted with blue hair powder, and he carried in his hand a long tasselled cane.

He turned as my lord entered, and when he saw who it was, came across the hall. 'I hoped I was the last,' he complained. He raised his quizzing-glass, and through it peered at the hole in his lordship's coat. 'My dear Cullen!' he said, shocked. "My dear fellow! Ecod, my lord, your coat!'

One of the lackeys had it over his arm. My lord shook out his Dresden ruffles, but carelessly as though it mattered very little to him to be _point-de-vice_. 'Well, James, what of my coat?' he asked.

Mr Coven achieved a shudder. 'There's a damned hole in it, Cullen,' he protested. He moved forward and very gingerly lifted the fold of the garment. 'And a damned smell of powder, Cullen,' he said. 'You've been shooting someone.'

His lordship leaned against the bannister, and opened his snuff-box. 'Some scum of a footpad only.' he said.

Mr Coven abandoned his affectations for the moment. 'Kill him, Edward?'

'Of course,' said my lord.

Mr Coven grinned. 'What have you done with the corpse, my boy?'

'Done with it?' said his lordship with a touch of impatience. 'Nothing. What should I do with a corpse?'

Mr Coven rubbed his chin. 'Devil take me if I know,' he said after some thought. 'But you can't leave a corpse on the road, Edward. People might see it on the way back to town. Ladies won't like it.'

His lordship had raised a pinch of snuff to one classic nostril, but he paused before he sniffed. 'I hadn't thought of that,' he admitted. A gleam, possibly of amusement, stole into his eyes. He glanced at the lackey who still held his damaged greatcoat. 'There is a corpse somewhere on the road to town. Mr Coven does not wish it there. Remove it!'

The lackey was far too well trained to display emotion, but he was a little shaken. 'Yes, my lord,' he said. 'What does your lordship want done with it, if you please?'

'I have no idea,' said his lordship. 'James, what do you want done with it?'

'Egad, what is to be done with a corpse in the middle of Hounslow Heath?' demanded Mr Coven. 'I've a notion it should be delivered to a constable.'

'You hear?' said his lordship. 'The corpse must be conveyed to town.'

'Bow Street,' interjected Mr Coven.

'To Bow Street - with the compliments of Mr Coven.'

'No, damme, I don't take the credit for it, Edward. Compliments of the Marquis of Cullen, my man.'

The lackey swallowed something in his throat, and said with palpable effort: 'It shall be attended to, sir.'

Mr Coven looked at the Marquis. 'I don't see what else we can do, Edward, do you?'

'We seem to have been put to a vast deal of inconvenience already,' replied the Marquis, dusting his sleeve with a very fine handkerchief. 'I don't propose to bother my head further in the matter.'

'The we may as well go upstairs,' said Mr Coven.

'I await your pleasure, my dear James,' returned his lordship, and began leisurely to mount the shallow stairs.

Mr Coven fell in beside him, drawing an elegant brisé fan from his pocket. He opened it carefully, and held for his friend to see. 'Vernis Martin,' he said.

His lordship glanced casually down at it. 'Very pretty,' he replied. 'Chassereau, I suppose.'

'Quite right,' Mr Coven said, waving it gently to and fro. 'Subject Télémaque, in ivory.'

They passed round the bend in the stairway. Down in the hall the two lackeys looked at one another. 'Corpses one moment, fans the next,' said the man who held Cullen's coat. 'There's the Quality for you!'

The episode of the corpse had by this time apparently faded from Lord Cullen's mind, but Mr Coven, thinking it a very good tale, spoke of it to at least three people, who repeated it to others. It came in due corse to the ears of Lady Mary Brandon, who, in company with her son Seth and her daughter Alice, was present at the drum.

Lady Mary had been a widow for a number of years, and the polite world had ceased to predict a second marriage for her. Flighty she had always been, but her affection for the late Mr Rupert Brandon had been a very real thing. Her period of mourning had lasted a full year, and when she reappeared in society it was quite a long time before she had spirits to amuse herself with even the mildest flirtation. Now, with a daughter of marriageable age, she was becoming quite matronly, and had taken to arraying herself in purples and greys, and to wearing on her exceedingly elaborate coiffure turbans that spoke the dowager.

She was talking to an old friend, one William Black, when she overheard the story of her nephew's latest exploit, and she at once broke off her own conversation to exclaim: 'That abominable boy! I vow and declare I never go anywhere but what I hear of him. And never any good, William. Never!'

William Black's eyes travelled across the room to where the Marquis was standing, and dwelled rather thoughtfully on that arrogant figure. He did not say anything for a moment, and Lady Mary rattled on.

'I am sure I have not the least objection to him shooting a highwayman - my dear William, do but look at that odd gown! What a figure of fun - oh, it is Lady Lauren Mallory! Well, small wonder. She never could dress, and really she is become so strange of late, people say she is growing absolutely _English_. Yes, William, I heard it from Mr Aro, and he vowed she was mad - what was I saying? Cullen! Oh, yes, well, if he must shoot highwaymen, it's very well, but to leave the poor man dead on the road - though I make no doubt he would have done the same to Cullen, for I believe they are horribly callous, these fellows - but that's neither here nor there. Cullen had no right to leave him. Now people will say that he is wickedly blood-thirsty, or something disagreeable, and it is quite true, only one does not want the whole world to say so.' She drew a long breath. 'And Esme,' she said - 'and you know, William, I am very fond of dear Esme - Esme will laugh, and say that her _méchant Edward _is dreadfully thoughtless. Thoughtless!'

Black smiled. 'I make no doubt she will,' he agreed.

'As for Carlisle, I truly think he does not care at all what happens to Edward.'

'After all,' William said slowly, 'Edward is so very like him.'

Lady Mary shut her fan with a snap. 'If you are minded to be unkind about my poor Carlisle, William, I warn you I shall not listen. Lud, I am sure he has been a perfect paragon ever since he married Esme. I know he is monstrous disagreeable, and no one was ever more provoking, unless it be Emmett, who, by the way, encourages Edward Edward in every sort of excess, just as one would expect - but I'll stake my reputation Carlisle was never such a - yes, William, such a _devil_ as Cullen. Why, they call him Devil's Cub! And if you are going to tell me that is because he is Carlisle's son, all I can say is that you are in a very teasing mood, and it's no such thing.'

'He is very young, Mary,' William said, still watching the Marquis across the room.

'That makes it worse,' declared her ladyship. 'Oh, my dear Lady Weber, I wondered whether I would see you to-night! I protest, it's an age since I had a talk with you... Odious woman, and as for her daughter, you may say what you choose, William, but the girl _squints_! Where was I? Oh, Cullen, of course! Young? Yes, William, I marvel that you should find that an excuse for him. The poor Newtons had trouble enough with their son, not but what I consider Newton was entirely to blame - but I never heard that James Coven ever did anything worse than lose a fortune at gaming, which is a thing no one could blame in him. It is very different with Cullen. From the day he left Eton he has been outrageous, and I make no doubt he was so in the nursery. It is not only his duels, William - my dear, do you know he is considered positively deadly with the pistols? Seth tells me they say in the clubs that it makes no odds to the Devil's Cub whether he is drunk or sober, he can still pick out a playing card on the wall. He did that at White's once, and there was the most horrible scandal, for of course he was in his cups, and only fancy, William, how angry all the people like old Aro and Mr Marcus must have been! I wish I had seen it!'

'I did see it,' said William. 'A silly boy's trick, no more.'

'I dare say, but it was no boy's trick to kill young Yorkie. A pretty to-do there was over that. But as I say, it is not only his duels. He plays high - well, so do we all, and he is a true Mason - and he drinks too much. No one ever saw Carlisle in his cups that I ever heard of, William. And worse - worse than all -' she stopped and made a gesture with her fan. 'Opera dancers,' she said darkly.

Black smiled. 'Well, Mary, I deplore it as much as you do, but i believe you cannot say that no one ever saw Carlisle -'

He was interrupted. 'I am very fond of Carlisle,' said Lady Mary tartly, 'but I never pretended to approve of his conduct. And with all his faults Carlisle was always _bon ton_. It is no such thing with Cullen. If he were my son, I should never have consented to let him live anywhere but under my roof. My own dear Seth scarce leaves my side.'

William bowed. 'I know you are very fortunate in your son, Mary,' he said.

She sighed. 'Indeed, he is prodigiously like his poor papa.'

William made no reply to this but merely bowed again. Knowing her ladyship as he did, he was perfectly well aware that her son's staid disposition was something of a disappointment to her.

'I am sure,' said Lady Mary, with a touch of defiance, 'that if I heard of my Seth holding - holding orgies with all the wildest young rakes in town I should die of mortification.' He frowned. 'Orgies, Mary?'

'Orgies, William. Pray do not ask more.'

Black had heard a good many stories concerning the doing of Cullen's particular set, and bearing in mind what these stories were, he was somewhat surprised that they should have come to Lady Mary's ears. From her expression of outraged virtue he inferred that she really had heard some of the worst tales. He wondered whether Seth Brandon had been her informant, and reflected that in spite of his excesses one could not but like the Marquis better than his impeccable cousin.

At that moment Mr Seth Brandon came across the room towards his mother. He was a good-looking young man of rather stocky build, dressed very neatly in Spanish-brown velvet. He was in his thirteenth year, but the staidness of his demeanor made him appear older. He greeted Black with a bow and a grave smile, and had begun to inquire politely after the older man's health, when his mother interrupted him.

'Pray, Seth, where is your sister? I was put out to see that young Whitlock present here to-night. I do trust you have not let her slip off with him?'

'No,' Seth said. 'She is with Cullen.'

'Oh!' A curiously thoughtful expression came into her ladyship's face. 'Well, I make no doubt they were glad to see each other.'

'I don't know,' Seth said painstakingly. 'Alice cried out: "Why, my dear Edward, you here?" or some such thing, and Cullen said: "Good God! Have I stumbled on a family gathering?"'

'That is just his way,' Lady Mary assured him. She turned her limpid gaze upon Black. 'Cullen has a great kindness for his cousin, you know, William.'

Black did not know it, but he was perfectly well aware of Lady Mary's ambition. Whatever might be the imperfections of Cullen's character, he was one of the biggest prizes of the matrimonial market, and for years her ladyship had cherished hopes which she fondly believed to be secret.

Seth seemed disposed to argue the matter. 'For my part I do not believe that Cullen cares a fig for Alice,' he said. 'And as for her, I very much fear this Jasper Whitlock has taken her fancy to an alarming degree.'

How can you be so teasing, Seth?' Mary demanded petulantly. 'You know very well she is nothing but a child, and I am sure no though of - of marriage, or love, or any such folly has entered her head. And if it had, it is no great matter, and when she has been in Paris a week, she will have forgotten the young man's very existence.'

'Paris?' said William, foreseeing that Seth was going to try and convince his mother for her own good. 'Is Alice going to Paris?'

'Why, yes, William. Have you forgotten that my dear mamma was a Frenchwoman? I am sure it is no matter for wonder that the child should visit her French relatives. They are quite wild to know her, so Seth is to take her next week. I don't doubt they will make so much rout with her she will hardly wish to come home again.'

'But I do not feel at all hopeful that it will answer the purpose,' said Seth heavily.

'Pray, Seth, do not be so provoking!' implored Lady Mary, somewhat tartly. 'You make it sound as though I were one of those odious scheming females whom I detest.'

William thought it time to withdraw, and tactfully did so, leaving mother and son to argue in comfort.

Meanwhile, Miss Alice Brandon, a charming brunette dressed in blue lustring with spangled shoes, and her close cropped curls arranged _á la Gorgonne_, had dragged her cousin into one of the adjoining saloons. 'You are the very person I wished to see!' se informed him.

The Marquis said with conspicuous lack of gallantry: 'If you want me to do something for you, Alice, I warn you I never do anything for anybody.'

Miss Brandon opened her blue eyes very wide. 'Not even for me, Edward?' she said soulfully.

His lordship remained unmoved. 'No,' he replied.

Miss Brandon sighed and shook her head. 'You are horridly disobliging, you know. It quite decides me not to marry you.'

'I hoped it might,' said his lordship calmly.

Miss Brandon made an effort to look affronted, but only succeeded in giggling. 'You needn't be afraid. I am going to marry someone quite different,' she said.

His lordship evinced signs of faint interest at that. 'Are you?' he enquired. 'Does my aunt know?'

'You may be very wicked, and quite hatefully rude,' said Miss Brandon, 'but I will say one thing for you, Edward: you do not need to have things explained to you like Seth. Mamma does not mean me to marry him, and that is why I am to be packed off to France next week.'

'Who is "he"? Ought I to know?' inquired the marquis.

'I don't suppose you know him. He is not at all the sort of person who would know your set,' said Miss Brandon severely.

'Ah, then I was right,' retorted my lord. 'You are contemplating a _mésalliance_.'

Miss Brandon stiffened in every line of her small figure. 'It's no such thing! He may not be a brilliant match, or have a title, but all the men I have met who are brilliant matches are just like you, and would make the most horrid husbands.'

'You may as well let me know the worst,' said my lord. 'If you think it would annoy Aunt Mary, I'll do what I can for you.'

She clasped both hands on his arm. 'Dear, dear Edward! I knew you would! It is Jasper Whitlock.'

'And who,' said the Marquis, 'might he be?'

'He comes from Gloucestershire - or is it Somerset? Well, it doesn't signify - and his papa is Sir Malcolm Whitlock, and it is all perfectly respectable, as dear Aunt Esme would say, for they have always lived there, and there is an estate, though not very large, I believe, and Jasper is the eldest son, and he was at Cambridge, and this is his first stay in town, and Lord Caius is his sponsor, so you see it is not a _mésalliance _at all.'

'I don't,' said his lordship. 'You may as well give up the notion, my dear. They'll never let you throw yourself away on this nobody.'

'Edward,' said Miss Brandon with dangerous quiet.

My lord looked lazily down at her.

'I just want you to know that my mind is made up,' she said, giving him back look for look. 'So that it is no use to talk to me like that.'

'Very well,' said my lord.

'And you will make a push to help us, won't you, dearest Edward?'

'Oh, certainly, child. I will tell Aunt Mary that the alliance has my full approval.'

'You are quite abominable,' said his cousin. 'I know you dislike of all things to bestir yourself, but recollect, my lord, if once I am wed you need not be afraid anymore that mamma will make you marry me.'

'I am not in the least afraid of that,' replied his lordship.

'I declare it would serve you right if I did marry you!' cried Miss Brandon indignantly. 'You are being quite atrocious and all I want to to do is to write a letter to Tante Elizabeth in Paris!'

His lordship's attention seemed to have wandered, but at this be brought his gaze back from the contemplation of a ripe blonde who was trying to appear unconscious of his scrutiny, and looked down into Miss Brandon's face.

'Why?' he asked.

'It's perfectly plain, Edward, I should have thought. Tante Elizabeth so dotes on you she will do whatever you wish, and if you were to solicit her kindness for a friend of yours about to make his début in paris -'

'Oh, that's it, is it?' said the Marquis. 'Much good will a letter from me avail you if my respected Aunt Mary has already warned Tante against your nobody.'

'She won't do that,' Miss Brandon replied confidently. 'And he is not a nobody. She has no notion, you see, that Jasper means to follow me to Paris. So you will write, will you not, Edward?'

'No, certainly not,' said my lord. 'I've never set eyes on this fellow.'

'I knew you would say something disagreeable like that,' said Miss Brandon, unperturbed, 'So I told Jasper to be ready.' She turned her head and made a gesture with her fan, rather in the manner of a sorceress about to conjure up visions. In response to the signal a young man who had been watching her anxiously disengaged himself from a knot of persons near the door, and came towards her.

He was not so tall as Cullen, and of a very different _ton_. From his moderate-sized pigeon's-wing wig to his low-heeled black shoes, there did not seem to be a hair or a pin out of place. His dress was in the mode, but not designed to attract attention. He wore Lunardi lace at his throat and wrists, and a black solitaire adorned his cravat. Such unusual adjuncts to a gentleman's costume as quizzing-glass, fobs, and watches, he had altogether dispensed with, but he had a snuff-box in one hand, and wore a cameo-ring on one finger.

The Marquis watched his approach through his quizzing-glass. 'Lord!' he said. 'What's the matter with you, Al?'

Miss Brandon chose to ignore this. She sprang up as Mr Whitlock reached them, and laid her hand on his arm. 'Jasper, I have told my cousin all!' she said dramatically. 'This is my cousin, by the way. I dare say you know of him. He is very wicked and kills people in duels. Cullen, this is Jasper.'

His lordship had risen. 'You talk too much, Alice,' he drawled. His dark eyes held a distinct menace, but his cousin remained unabashed. He exchanged bows with Mr Whitlock. 'Sir, your most obedient.'

Mr Whitlock, who had blushed at his Alice's introduction, said that he was honored.

'Cullen is going to write my French aunt about you,' stated Miss Brandon blithely. 'She is really the only person in the family who is not shocked by him. Except me, of course.'

The Marquis caught her eye once more. Knowing that dangerous look of old, Miss Brandon capitulated. 'I won't say another word,' she promised. 'And you will write, will you not, dear Edward?'

Mr Whitlock said in his grave young voice: 'I think my Lord Cullen must require my credentials. My lord, though I am aware I must sound like a mere adventurer, I can assure you it is no such thing. My family is well known in the West of England, and my Lord Caius will speak for me at need.'

'Good God, sir! I am not the girl's guardian!' said his lordship. 'You had better address all this to her brother.'

Mr Whitlock and Miss Brandon exchanged rueful glances.

'Mr Brandon and Lady Mary can hardly be unaware of my estate, sir, but - but in short I cannot flatter myself that they look upon my suit with any favor.'

'Of course they don't,' agreed the Marquis. 'You'll have to elope with her.'

Mr Whitlock looked extremely taken aback. 'Elope, my lord!' he said.

'Or give the chit up,' replied his lordship.

'My lord,' said Mr Whitlock earnestly, 'I ask you to believe that in journeying to Paris, I have no such impropriety in mind. It was always my father's intention that I should visit France. Miss Brandon's going there but puts my own journey forward.'

'Yes,' said Alice thoughtfully, 'but for all that I'm not sure it wouldn't be a very good thing to do, Jasper. I must say, Cullen, you do take some prodigious clever notions into your head! I wonder I did not think of it myself.'

Mr Whitlock regarded her with a hint of sternness in his frank gaze. 'Alice - madam! You could not suppose that I would steal you away clandestinely? His lordship was jesting.'

'Oh no, indeed he wasn't. It is just the kind of thing he would do himself. It is no good being proper and respectable, Jasper; we may be forced to elope in the end. Unless -' She paused, and looked doubtfully up at Cullen. 'You don't suppose, do you, Edward, that my Uncle Carlisle could be induced to speak for us to mamma?'

My lord answered this without hesitation. 'Don't be a fool, Al.'

She sighed. 'No, I was afraid he would not. It is a vast pity, for mamma always does what Uncle Carlisle says.' She caught sight of a stocky figure at the far end of the room. 'There's Seth! You had best go away, Jasper, for it will not do at all for Seth to see you talking to my cousin.'

She watched him bow, and retreat, and turned enthusiastically to the Marquis. 'Is he not a delightful creature, Cullen?' she demanded.

My lord looked at her frowningly. 'Alice,' he said, 'do I understand that you prefer him as a husband to myself?'

'Infinitely,' Miss Brandon assured him.

'You have very bad taste, my girl,' said my lord calmly.

'Indeed, cousin! And may I ask whether you prefer that yellow-haired chit I saw you with at Vauxhall as a wife to me?' retorted Alice.

'Ill-judged, my dear. I do not contemplate marriage either with her or you. Nor am I at all certain which yellow-haired chit you mean.'

Miss Brandon prepared to depart. She swept a dignified curtsey, and said: 'I do not mix with the company you keep, dear cousin, so I cannot tell you her name.'

The Marquis bowed gracefully. 'I still live, dear Alice.'

'You are shameless and provoking,' Miss Brandon said crossly and left him.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

In the sunny withdrawing-room which overlooked the street sat the Duchess, listening to her sister-in-law, Lady Mary Brandon, who had called to pay her a morning visit, and to talk over the week's doings over a cup chocolate and little sweet biscuits.

Lady Mary no longer looked her best in the crude light of day, but her grace, though turned forty now, still retained a youthful bloom in her cheeks, and had no need at all to shrink from the sunlight. Lady Mary, who had taken care to seat herself with her back to the window, could not help feeling slightly resentful. There really seemed to be so little difference between her grace, and the girl whom Carlisle had brought to England twenty-four years ago. Esme's figure was as slim as ever, her golden hair, worn just now _en négligé_, was untouched by grey, and her eyes, those great dark-blue eyes which had first attracted the Duke, held all their old sparkle. Twenty-four years of marriage had given her dignity - when she chose to assume it, and much feminine wisdom, which she had lacked in the old days, but no wifely or motherly responsibility, no weight of honours, of social eminence had succeeded in subduing the _gamin_ spirit in her. Lady Mary considered her far too impulsive, but since she was, at the bottom of her somewhat shallow heart, very fond of her sister-in-law, she admitted that Esme's impetuosity only added to her charm.

To-day, however, she was in no mood to admire the Duchess. Life was proving itself a tiresome business, full of unpaid bills, and undutiful daughters. Vaguely it annoyed her that Esme (who had a thoroughly unsatisfactory son if only she could be brought to realize it) should look so carefree.

'I vow,' she said rather sharply, 'I do not know why we poor creatures slave and fret our lives out for our children, for they are all ungrateful and provoking and only want to disgrace one.'

Esme wrinkled her brow at that. 'I do not think,' she said seriously, 'that Seth would ever want to disgrace you, Mary.'

'Oh, i was not talking of Seth!' said her ladyship. 'Son's are another matter, though to be sure I should not say so to you, for you have trouble enough with poor dear Edward, and indeed I wonder how it is he has not turned your air white with worry already, and young as he is.'

'I do not have troubles with Edward,' said Esme flatly. 'I find him _fort amusant_,'

'Then I trust you will find his latest exploit _fort amusant_,' said Lady Mary Tartly. 'I will make no doubt he will break his neck over it, for what must he do at the drum last night but wager young Crossly - as mad a rake as I ever set eyes on, and I should be prodigious sorry to see my son in his company - that he would drive his curricle from London to Newmarket in four hours. Five hundred guineas on it, so I heard - play or pay!'

'He drive very well,' Esme said hopefully. 'I do not think that he will break his neck, but you are quite right, _tout même_, Mary: it makes one very anxious.'

'And not content with making absurd wagers, which of course he must lose -'

''He will not lose,' cried her grace indignantly. 'And if you like I will lay you a wager that he will win!'

'Lord, my dear, I don't know what you would have me stake,' said Lady Mary, forgetting the main issue for the moment. 'It's very with all the pin money and the jewels Carlisle gives you, but I give you my word I expect to find myself at any moment in that horrid place Emmett used to be clapped up in. If you can believe it I've not won once at loo this past month or at silver-pharaoh, and as for whist, I vow and declare to you I wish the game had never been thought of. But that's neither here nor there, and at least i have not to stand by and watch my only son make himself the talk of the town with his bets and his highwaymen, and i don't know what more beside.'

Esme looked interested at this. 'But tell!' she commanded. 'What highwayman?'

'Oh, it was nothing but just to match the rest of his conduct. He shot one last night on Hounslow Heath, and must needs leave the body upon the road.'

'He is a very good shot,' Esme said. 'For me, I like best to fight with swords, and so does Monseigneur, but Edward chooses pistols.'

Lady Mary almost stamped her feet. 'I declare you are as incorrigible as that worthless boy himself!' she cried. 'It's very well for the world to call Edward Devil's Cub, and place all his wildness at poor Carlisle's door, but for my part I find him very like his mamma.'

Esme was delighted, '_Voyons_, that pleases me very much!' she said. 'Do you really think so?'

What Mary might have been goaded to reply to this was checked by the quiet opening of the door behind her. She wad no need to turn her head to see who had come in, for Esme's face told her.

A soft voice spoke. 'Ah, my dear Mary,' it said, 'lamenting my son's wickedness as usual, I perceive.'

'Monseigneur, Edward had shot a highwayman!' Esme said, before Mary had time to speak.

'His grace came slowly to the fire, and stretched one thin white hand to the blaze. He carried an ebony stick, but it was noticeable that he leaned on it but slightly. He was still very upright, and only his lined face showed his age. He wore a suit of black velvet with silver lacing, and his wig, which was curled in the latest French fashion, was thickly powdered. His eyes held all their old mockery, and mockery sounded in his voice as he answered: 'Very proper.'

'And left the body to rot on the road!' snapped Lady Mary.

His grace's delicate brows rose. 'I appreciate your indignation, my dear. An untidy ending.'

'But not at all Monseigneur!' Esme sad practically. 'I do not see that a corpse is of any use at all.'

'La, child, will you never lose those callous notions of yours?' demanded Mary. 'It might be Carlisle himself speaking! All he would say was that he could not bring the corpse to the drum. Yes, Carlisle; that is positively the only excuse he gave for his inhuman conduct.'

'I did not know that Edward had so much proper feeling,' remarked his grace. He moved towards a chair and sat down. 'Doubtless you had some other reason for visiting us to-day - other than to mourn Edward's exploits.'

'Of course, I might have known you would uphold him, just to be disagreeable,' said Lady Mary crossly.

'I never uphold Edward - even to be disagreeable,' replied his grace.

'Indeed, and I cannot conceive how you should. I was only saying to Esme when you came in that I have never seen my son in such scrapes as he is always in. I do not believe Seth has caused me one moment's anxiety in all his life.'

The Duke opened his snuff-box - a plain gold case delicately painted _en grisaille _by Degault and protected by _cristal de roche_. 'I can do nothing about it, my dear Mary,' he said. 'Recollect that you wanted to marry Rupert.'

Under her rouge additional and quite natural colour rose in Mary's cheeks. 'I won't hear one word against my sainted Rupert!' she said, her voice quivering a little. 'And if you mean that Seth is like his dear father, I am sure I am thankful for it.'

Esme interposed hurriedly. 'Monseigneur did not mean anything like that, did you, Monseigneur? And me, I was always very fond of Rupert. And certainly Seth is like him, which is a good thing, just as Alice is very like you, only not, I think, as pretty as you were.'

'Oh, my dear, do you say so indeed?' Lady Mary's angry flush died down. 'You flatter me, but I believe I was accounted something of a beauty in my young days, was I not, Carlisle? Only I hope I was never so headstrong as Alice, who is likely to ruin everything by her stupid behavior.' She turned to her brother. 'Carlisle, it is too provoking! The childish chit has taken a fancy to the verist nobody, and I am forced - yes, forced to pack her off to France till she has got over it.'

Esme at once pricked up her ears. 'Oh, is Alice in love? But who is he?'

'Pray do not put such an idea into her head!' besought Lady Mary. 'It's no such matter, I'll be bound. Lord, if I had married the first man whom I fancied I loved - ! It's nothing but a silly girl's first affair, but she is such a headstrong child I vow I do not know what she will be at next. So off she goes to France. Seth is to take her.'

'Who,' inquired his grace languidly, 'is the nobody?'

'Oh, no one of account, my dear Carlisle. Some country squire's son whom young Caius is sponsoring.'

'Is he nice?' Esme asked.

'I dare say, my love, but that's nothing to the point. I have other plans for Alice.' She gave her laces a little shake, and went on airily: 'I am sure we have spoken of it often enough, you and I, and I cannot help feeling that it would be a charming match, besides fulfilling my dearest wish. And I have always thought them remarkably well suited, and I make no doubt at all that everything would have been on the road to being settled by now had Alice not taken it into her head to flout me in this way, though to be sure, I do not in the least blame her for appearing cold to him, for it is no more than he deserves.'

She paused for breath, and shot a look at the Duke out of the corners of her eyes. He was quite unperturbed; a faint smile hovered over his thin lips, and he regarded his sister with an air of cynical amusement. 'I find your conversation somewhat difficult to follow, my dear Mary,' he said. 'Pray enlighten me.'

Lady Mary said shrewdly: 'Indeed, and I think you follow me very well, Carlisle.'

'But I don't,' Esme said. 'Who deserves that Alice should be cold? It is not the poor nobody?'

'Of course not!' replied her ladyship impatiently. She seemed strangely loth to explain herself. Esme glanced inquiringly at the Duke.

He had opened his snuff-box again, and held a pinch to one nostril before he spoke. 'I apprehend, my love, that Mary is referring to your son.'

A blank look came into Esme's face. 'Edward? But -' She stopped and looked at Mary. 'No,' she said flatly.

Lady Mary was hardly prepared for anything so downright. 'Lord, my dear, what can you mean?'

'I do not at all what Edward to marry Alice,' Esme explained.

'Perhaps,' said Lady Mary, sitting very erect in her chair, 'you will be goon enough to explain what that signifies.'

'I am sorry if I seemed rude,' Esme apologized. 'Did I, Monseigneur?'

'Very,' he answered, shutting his snuff-box with an expert flick of the finger. 'But unlike Mary, beautifully frank.'

'Well, I am sorry,' she repeated. 'It is not that I do not like Alice, but I do not think it would amuse Edward to marry her.'

'Amuse him!' Mary turned with pardonable exasperation to her brother. 'If that is all - ! Have you also forgotten the plans we made, Carlisle, years back?'

'Acquit me, Mary, I never make plans.'

Esme interrupted a heated rejoinder to say: 'It is true, Mary: we did say Edward should marry Alice. Not Monseigneur, but you and I. But they were babies, and me, I think it is all quite different now.'

'What is different, pray?' demanded her ladyship.

Esme reflected. 'Well, Edward is,' she replied naïvely. 'He is not enough respectable for Alice.'

'Lord, child, do you look to see him bring home one of his opera dancers on his arm?' Lady Mary said with a shrill little laugh.

From a doorway a cool, faintly insolent voice spoke. 'My good aunt interests herself in my affairs, I infer.' The Marquis of Cullen came into the room, his chapeau-bras under his arm, the wings of his riding coat clipped back, French fashion, and top boots on his feet. There was a sparkle in his eyes, but he bowed with great politeness to his aunt, and went towards the Duchess.

She flew out of her chair. 'Ah, my little one! _Voyons_, this makes me very happy!'

'He put his arms around her. The red light went out of his eyes, and a softer look transformed his face. '"My dear on only love," I give you good morrow,' he said. He shot a glance of mockery at his aunt, and took both Esme's hands in his. '"My dear - and - only - love,"' he repeated maliciously, and kissed her fingers.

The Duchess gave a little crow of laughter. 'Truly?' she inquired.

Mary saw him smile into her eyes, a smile kept for her alone. 'Oh, quite, my dear!' he said negligently. Upon which my lady arose with an angry flounce of her armazine skirts, and announced that it was time she took her leave of them.

Esme pressed her son's hand coaxingly. 'Edward, you will escort your aunt to her carriage, will you not?'

'With the greatest pleasure on earth, madam,' he replied with promptitude, and offered his arm to the outraged lady.

She made her adieux stiffly, and went out with him. Half-way down the stairs her air of offended dignity deserted her. To be sure the boy was so very handsome, and she had ever a soft corner for a rake. She stole a glance at his profile, and suddenly laughed. 'I declare, you're as disdainful as your father,' she remarked. 'But you need not be so cross, even if I do interest myself in your affairs.' She tapped his arm with her gloved hand. 'You know, Edward, I have a great fondness for you.'

The Marquis looked down at her rather enigmatically. 'I shall strive to deserve your regard, ma'am,' he said.

'Shall you, my dear?' Lady Mary's tone was dry. 'I wonder! Well, there is no use denying I had hoped yo would have made me happy, you and Alice.'

'Console yourself, dear aunt, with the reflection that I shall cause neither you nor Alice unhappiness.'

'Why, what do you mean?' she asked.

He laughed. 'I should make a devil of a husband, aunt.'

'I believe you would,' she said slowly. 'But - well, never mind.' They had come to the big door that gave on to the street. The porter swung it open and stood waiting. Lady Mary gave her hand to the Marquis, who kissed it punctiliously. 'Yes,' she said. 'A devil of a husband. I am sorry for your wife - or I should be if I were a man.' On which obscure utterance she departed.

His lordship went back to the sunny room upstairs.

'I hope you did not enrage her, _mon petit_?' Esme said anxiously.

'Far from it,' replied the Marquis. 'I think - but she became profound so that I cannot be sure - that she is now glad I am not going to marry my cousin.'

'I told her you would not. I knew you would not like it at all,' Esme said.

His grace surveyed her blandly. 'You put yourself to unnecessary trouble, my love. I cannot conceive that Alice, who seems to me to have more sense than one would expect to find in a child of Mary's, would contemplate marriage with our son.'

The Marquis grinned. 'As usual, sir, you are right.'

'But I do not think so at all,' objected Esme. 'And if you are right, then I say that Alice is a little fool, and without any sense at all.'

'She is in love,' answered the Marquis, 'with a man called Jasper.'

'_Incroyable_!' Esme exclaimed. 'Tell me all about him at once. He sounds very disagreeable.'

The Duke looked across the room at his son. 'One was led to suppose from Mary's somewhat incoherent discourse that the young man is impossible!'

'Oh, quite, sir,' agreed Edward. 'But she'll have him for all that.'

'Well, if she loves him, I hope she will marry him,' said Esme, with a bewildering change of front. 'You do not mind, do you, Monseigneur?'

'It is not, thank God, my affair,' replied his grace. 'I am not concerned with the Brandon's futures.'

The Marquis met his glance squarely. 'Very well, sir. The point is taken.'

The Duke held out one of his very white hands towards the fire, and regarded through half-closed eyes the big emerald ring he wore. 'It is not my custom,' he said smoothly, 'to inquire into your affairs, but I have heard talk of a girl who is not an opera dancer.'

The Marquis answered with perfect composure. 'But not, I think, talk of my approaching nuptials.'

'Hardly,' said his grace, with a faint lift of the brows.

'Nor will you, sir.'

'You relive me,' said his grace politely. He got up, leaning lightly on his ebony cane. 'Permit me to tell you, my son, that when you trifle with a girl of the _bourgeoisie_, you run the risk of creating the kind of scandal I deplore.'

A smile flickered across Edward's mouth. 'You pardon, sir, but do you speak from your wide experience?'

'Naturally,' said his grace.

'I do not believe,' said Esme, who had been listening calmly to this interchange, 'that you ever trifles with a _bourgeoise_, Carlisle.'

'You flatter me, child.' He looked again at his son. 'I do not need your assurance that you amuse yourself only. I have no doubt that you will commit almost every indiscretion, but one you will not commit. You are, after all, my son. But i would advise you, Edward, to amuse yourself with women of a certain class, or with your own kind, who understand how the game should be played.'

The Marquis bowed. 'You are a fount of wisdom, sir.'

'Of worldly wisdom, yes,' said his grace. In the doorway he paused and looked back. 'Ah, there was another little matter, as I remember. What kind of cattle do you keep in your stables that it must needs take you four hours to reach Newmarket?'

The Marquis's eye gleamed appreciation, but Esme was inclined to be indignant. 'Monseigneur, I find you _fort exigeant_ to-day. Four hours! _ma foi_, but of a surety he will break his neck.'

'It has been done in less,' his grace said tranquilly.

'That i do not at all believe,' stated the Duchess. 'Who did it in less?'

'I did,' said her husband.

'Oh, then I do believe it,' said Esme as a matter of course.

'How long. sir?' the Marquis said swiftly.

'Three hours and forty-seven minutes.'

'Still too generous, sir. Three hours and forty-five minutes should, i think, suffice. You would, perhaps, like to lay me odds?'

'Not in the least,' said his grace. 'But three hours and forty-five minutes should certainly suffice.'

He went out. Esme said: 'Of course I should like you to beat Monseigneur's record, my little one, but it is very dangerous. Do not kill yourself, Edward, please.'

'I won't,' he answered. 'That is a promise, my dear.'

She tucked her hand in his. 'Ah, but it is a promise you could break, _mon ange_.'

'Devil a bit!' said his lordship cheerfully. 'Ask my uncle. He will tell you I was born to be hanged.'

'Emmett?' said Esme scornfully. '_Voyons_, he would not tell me any such thing, because he would not dare.' She retained her clasp on his hand. 'Now you will talk to me a little, _mon enfant_ - _tout bas_. Who is this _bourgeoise_?'

The laugh went out of Edward's eyes at that, and and his brown drew close together. 'Let be, madam. She is nothing. How did my father hear of her?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know. But this I know, Edward, you will never be able to hide anything from your father. And I think he is not quite pleased. It would be better, perhaps, if you did not amuse yourself there.'

'Content you, maman. I can manage my affairs.'

'Well, I hope so,' Esme said doubtfully. 'You are quite sure, I suppose, that this will not lead to a _m_é_salliance_?'

He looked at her rather somberly. 'You don't flatter my judgment, madame. Do you think I am so likely to forget what I owe my name?'

'Yes,' said her grace candidly, 'I think, my dear, that when you have the devil in you - which I perfectly understand - you are likely to forget everything.'

He disengaged himself, and stood up. 'My devil don't prompt me to marriage, maman,' he said.


End file.
